


long story short

by dreamtiwasanarchitect



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Depression, Developing Relationship, Drinking, Drinking Games, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Getting Together, Inspired by New Girl (TV 2011), M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Proposals, Roommates, breaking up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28251717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamtiwasanarchitect/pseuds/dreamtiwasanarchitect
Summary: Andy maintains eye contact as she unpins her “roommate wanted” sign from the board and crumples it in her hand.Nile blinks.“I think you show promise,” Andy says by way of explanation.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Booker | Sebastien le Livre/Nile Freeman, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 109
Kudos: 338





	1. my battles picked me

**Author's Note:**

> This is _vaguely_ inspired by New Girl (shoutout to Tumblr user of-scythia) in terms of the setting (want a visual of the living situation? Google the New Girl loft) and basic premise. While some jokes from the show may be referenced, the plot is a thing unto itself, so an understanding of the show isn't necessary. Enjoy! :)

**May 21**

As per her routine, Nile goes to the gym after her shift at the coffeeshop. She warms up with some dynamic stretches before moving on to cardio, letting herself get lost in the familiar motions. It would be a day like any other if she wasn’t so busy stressing out about where the actual fuck she’s gonna live next month. 

She’s trying to channel all her anxiety into the treadmill when she notices the bulletin board next to the water cooler. 

She’s never paid it any attention before, but as she draws closer she sees it’s absolutely plastered with various ads—there’s about three layers of “help wanted” and “seeking bass player" and “missing pet” signs, some of them more than a year old. Nile’s about to give it up as a bad job when a woman she vaguely recognizes comes to stand next to her.

“You see any unused pushpins?” the woman asks. She’s wearing a cutoff tank that highlights her toned arms. 

Nile wipes her sweaty temple with the back of her wrist. “Honestly, you can probably just take your pick. Some of these ads are pretty old.”

The woman leans in, inspecting a flyer with an offer the juice place down the street was running four months ago. She takes it down, and Nile’s adrenaline jumps a little when she sees what it’s being replaced with.

“You’re looking for a roommate?” 

The woman raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, that’s what it says.”

“Sorry.” Nile swallows and tries to take it down a notch. “I’m just looking for a place, is all, and the renting situation here is outta control.”

The woman looks her up and down, and Nile knows when she’s being sized up. “What’s your name?”

“Nile.” She holds out her hand.

“Andy.” The woman takes it. Her grip is as intimidating as Nile would have guessed. “When are you looking to move?”

“Lease is up at the end of the month.” 

“Okay.” Andy nods. “The apartment is really more of a loft—there’s four rooms, and there’s five of us living there. The bathroom’s kind of weird, but you can check it out for yourself if you’re still interested.”

“Um.” Nile tries not to get stuck on what a “weird bathroom” could entail. “Yeah, I mean—I’d have my own room?”

“Yeah.”

Nile takes a minute to do her own sizing-up. Andy is definitely older than her—probably about ten years, Nile guesses—and she has some questions about why a thirty-something woman is living with four (possibly five) other people, but she doesn’t get serial-killer or cult vibes, and being ex-military, she likes to think she’s got a good sense for people who are unpalatably weird. 

“Okay, sure, I’d love to come see the place.”

Andy smiles then. “Great. What’s your number?”

Nile gives it to her. 

“I’ll figure out a time that everyone can be home, so you can meet them.” 

Nile smiles. “Sounds good.” 

Andy maintains eye contact as she unpins her “roommate wanted” sign from the board and crumples it in her hand. 

Nile blinks. 

“I think you show promise,” Andy says by way of explanation. 

———

Joe comes home to his third-favorite sight: Nicky cooking. (Second place is Nicky, naked, and coming in first is Nicky, cooking naked.)

Nicky looks up from the stove and smiles. “Hello, love.” He’s already changed out of his business casual and into sweats and Joe’s Alicia Keyes t-shirt. 

Joe toes off his shoes and presses up against Nicky’s back, arms wrapped around his chest. He kisses his neck, his cheek, his temple. “Hello. What’re you making?”

“Your favorite.” 

“Ah, you’re too good for me.” He rests his head on Nicky’s shoulder, feeling his migraine start to subside. 

“How was work?”

Joe just grunts, knowing Nicky will understand. The startup he works at is getting some serious attention and new rounds of funding, and the board’s been insisting on a rebrand. As a result, Joe’s been working fifty-to-sixty hour weeks on options for both revised and new logos. It’s design hell.

Nicky reaches back to tangle a hand in his hair. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Joe sighs. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m home now, and I’ve got my beautiful lover cooking for me.” He glances around and tries to listen carefully for any other signs of life in the loft. “And it sounds like we have our place to ourselves.”

Nicky huffs a laugh. “For once.”

Instead of taking the bait, Joe just tightens his embrace. “Anything I can do to help?” he asks in a desperate and wildly transparent attempt to change the subject. 

Nicky gives him an exasperated look, but he lets it drop. “You can open the wine,” he says, nodding to the island counter. 

Joe reluctantly leaves Nicky and hunts down the bottle opener, which is somehow never left in the same place twice. After he finds it in the last possible drawer it could be hiding in, he inspects the label on the bottle. “This is nice, Nicky,” he says. “What was this, a twenty-dollar bottle?”

“Twenty-seven. It’s not that nice.” Nicky’s voice is a little tight. “We aren’t twenty anymore, we don’t have to drink five-dollar wine.” He looks over his shoulder and says very pointedly, “We can afford nice things.”

“Can we pause this?” Joe asks tiredly. Every argument—discussion—they’ve had for the past year has centered around this particular issue, and the worst part of it is that Joe knows Nicky’s right. Nicky was promoted to director of the HR department at the insurance company he works at two years ago, and Joe’s been making more than starving artist money at the startup (though sometimes he wonders if it’s worth it). 

They have enough saved to get their own place, where they can be alone together and not share a dorm-style bathroom with four—now three—other adults, as Nicky has been reminding him more and more frequently. 

Nicky is watching him. His face is patient, but Joe thinks he’s stirring the sauce a little aggressively. 

“Just until the weekend, please, baby?” 

Nicky nods. “Fine, yes, the weekend.”

“I love you,” Joe tells him. “I know I’m being stupid. I’m really sorry. I promise I will be less stupid after I make it through this week.”

Nicky smiles then. “I will love you even if you are not,” he says, and turns back to the stove. Joe feels a weight lift off his chest. He’s grinning like an idiot as he uncorks the wine and pours them each a glass. 

———

The familiar smell of Nicky’s cooking is there to greet Andy when she gets back from the gym. 

“Thank fuck,” she says, dropping her gym bag as her sight zeroes in on the shakshouka. “I’m starving.”

She grabs the plate and fork she used for breakfast from the sink and sits down at the table across from Joe, who’s staring at her with a pained expression.

“What?” she asks as she dishes herself some food. 

“Did you really just take a dirty plate out of the sink? Is that what just happened?”

Andy stares at him. “Yeah, but it’s mine. It was just toast and eggs. Which is basically this.” 

Nicky rubs at his eyes. He and Joe exchange one of their patented “we’re sharing the same brain” couple looks, the kind she and Quỳnh give each other, or, maybe more accurately, gave each other. 

“Andy.” Nicky’s voice is patient, but she thinks it’s taking some effort on his part. “Joe and I were trying to spend some time together.”

She knows what he means, but lately she hasn’t been in the mood to aid or abet any sort of romance. “Looks like you are,” she says, mouth full. 

“Nicky wasn’t cooking for the whole loft, Andy.” Joe sounds very Not Mad, Just Disappointed and it raises her hackles. 

She lets her fork thunk down on her plate. “Fine, sorry to intrude on couples’ time.” She means for it to sound casually dismissive, but it comes out just a little too hot and way too revealing, if they look Nicky and Joe share is anything to go by.

“Stop,” she mutters. Now they’re both looking at her, wide-eyed, attentive, pitying. “It’s fine,” she adds.

“She gets back in a few days, yes?” Nicky asks gently. 

Andy loves them, these guys who know her better than almost anyone else, but the careful, on-eggshells quality of Nicky’s tone is tempting her to stab him with her fork. “The twenty-fourth,” she tells him, grudgingly, almost wishing she didn’t care enough to know.

“We’ll be sure to crash all of your romantic dinners then,” Joe teases, and Andy can’t help smiling back, which reminds her—

“Hey, new topic, good news,” she says. “I think I found us a new roomie.”

“Wow. Already?” They both look impressed, which is gratifying. 

“Yep. Met her at the gym. Told you I was a people-person.” She helps herself to some bread. 

Nicky laughs, his little snorting chuckle that is usually reserved for some terrible joke of Joe’s, and now she feels downright smug. 

Joe looks like he’s about to ask another question when the door opens and Booker comes shuffling in, looking disheveled as ever.

“Hey Book,” she says casually. “How’s chapter one coming?”

He flips her the finger. “Fuck off.” 

“Stop picking fights and tell Booker the good news,” Nicky urges. 

Booker pulls up a seat next to Joe and reaches across the table for the wine bottle. Joe smacks at his bicep, but Booker remains undeterred. He takes a long pull straight from the bottle. “This is some nice shit,” he says, and Nicky’s jaw is clenched, always a tell, but he just turns his attention back to Andy, waiting. 

“I think I found a replacement for Copley,” Andy tells Booker.

“Huh,” Booker says, and takes another drink.

Joe rolls his eyes.

“Tell us more,” Nicky says. “You said a her?”

“Yeah. Her name’s Nile. She’s a little younger. But I have a good feeling.”

Booker narrows his eyes. “How much younger?”

Andy shrugs. 

“Andy, I’m not living with a fucking eighteen-year-old—”

“Jesus, Book, not that much younger. She’s probably, I don’t know, mid-twenties?”

Booker makes a disgruntled noise but lets it drop.

“So, we’re meeting her, right?” Joe asks.

“Yeah. I’m gonna text her but wanted to find a time everyone would be home.”

“We’re free all weekend,” Joe says.

She glances at Booker. “I’m working normal hours,” he tells her. 

“I can’t remember your fucking schedule.”

“Saturday, four to close, Sunday, two to ten.” 

“We should also probably work around your writing schedule, huh?” she deadpans. “You’re on deadline, right?” 

Joe covers his smile with his hand. Booker just flips her off again. 

Once again, Nicky steers them away from conflict. “Will the weekend work for you and Quỳnh?” 

“Yeah,” Andy says, though she’s frankly lost track of when Quỳnh will be leaving next. “I’ll let you guys know a final time tomorrow.” 

Andy finishes her plate, Booker finishes the wine, and Nicky and Joe clean up the kitchen, which is admittedly a shit deal, but she’s too preoccupied by the looming dread of the call she has to make to do anything but simmer in her guilt. 

She puts it off as long as she can by showering and catching up on emails from pushy parents, but if she waits any longer, it’s going to be too late in New York to call.

Quỳnh picks up on the third ring. “Hey, what’s up?”

Andy clears her throat. “Just saying hi. How’s the trip?”

“Busy,” Quỳnh says, absently. 

Andy waits for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t. “Okay.”

“How’s it there?”

She thinks about everything that’s happened in the last week—the indie show she and Booker saw, the TV show she and Nicky spent last weekend bingeing, the new ramen place she and Joe discovered—and she could tell her girlfriend every last detail, and Quỳnh would say “oh, cool” and “sounds great” and make all the right comments at all the right tunes, but she wouldn’t actually give a shit about anything but the deals she’s brokering, and Andy would rather hear nothing than fake interest, so she just says, “Think I found a replacement roommate.”

“Oh, cool,” Quỳnh says. 

“She’s gonna come over and look at the loft. I wanted us all to be there. You’re back on Friday, right?”

“Right.”

“So maybe she could come over Sunday? We’ll be around?”

“Sounds great,” Quỳnh says.

“Great.” Andy breathes into the silence. “Well. It’s late there, right?”

“Almost ten. But I still have a few things to finish up.”

“Okay. I’ll let you go.” Two years ago, Andy would have told her not to work too hard, to catch up on sleep or to do something fun, but she knows better now. There’s an entire continent between them, but somehow it feels like even more. 

“Mmkay,” Quỳnh says. “Love you.”

“Love you. Bye.” There’s no “you-hang-up-first-no-you-hang-up-first” but she still stays on until her phone tells her the call’s ended.

She opens a new message.

_Hey, its Andy. 1pm Sunday work for you to come see the loft and meet everyone?_

Andy drops the phone on the bed and stares at the ceiling. She’s trying to remember if there’s still any vodka in the kitchen (or under her bed) when her phone lights up.

It’s Nile. 

_Sounds great! Send me the address when you have a chance, I’ll be there. Looking forward to it!_

Well, she thinks, that’s something. 


	2. you passed right by

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some sexual content near the end of the chapter. It's non-graphic and I think it all falls within the range of "could be seen on cable TV" so the rating remains T, but open to feedback there.

**May 27**

The loft is only a fifteen-minute walk to campus, which is a huge point in its favor. As she arrives, Nile tries to temper her expectations. All she really needs is for the space to be livable and the people to be normal, or, failing that, a level of weird she can deal with. 

Andy’s there to meet her and give her the tour. Nile’s first impressions of the space:

One, the kitchen is nice, updated and cleaner than Jay and Dizzy have ever left it at her current place.

Two, the main area is spacious and nicely furnished—definitely a step above your average 20-something living room. The leather couch isn’t even cracked. 

Three, Andy wasn’t lying about the bathroom. _That_ space is more in line with what Nile expects from a college dorm—but it’s probably serviceable, and maybe this will make up for her lack of traditional college experience. 

Four, her bedroom would have twice the closet space she has now, which doesn’t suck. 

Her first impressions of the people:

One, Joe and Nicky are That Couple, but they both seem nice enough.

Two, Quỳnh seems way too together to be living with someone like Booker, who is serving serious human disaster vibes. 

Three, Andy actually seems genuinely happy about the prospect of her moving in, which was not something she was particularly picking up on at the gym. 

Four, no one seems like an irredeemable asshole. So that’s good. 

After the tour, they group around the kitchen table and Joe starts passing out beers. 

“Do you drink, Nile?” Nicky asks. 

“Oh yeah, I didn’t think. It’s fine if you don’t,” Joe adds.

“No, it’s cool, I do,” she reassures them. Admittedly, she usually drinks vodka mixed with whatever’s handy, or, on special occasions, fancy fruity cocktails—not whatever hipster craft brew Joe’s just handed her, but they don’t need to know that. 

As they sit and drink, Nile learns that Quỳnh is Andy’s girlfriend, and an executive of some sort who spends at least half her time traveling. Andy assures her the details are very boring and is ignored by Quỳnh, who resumes tapping on her phone. Nicky works in HR at an insurance company. By his own admission, it’s very boring. Joe is a creative director at a startup, and he adds that he doesn’t want to talk about it. Andy coaches club soccer, specifically U-15s. Booker is a bartender, and, according to Andy, a novelist, though he shoots her a dirty look when she says it and Nile’s not sure what she’s missing. 

“Tell us about you, Nile,” Nicky prompts. His steady, earnest attention paired with Joe’s easy smiles and teasing grins tempers Quỳnh’s distraction and Booker’s obvious…something. She’s not sure what the dude’s deal is, but either he’s not a fan of Nile or he’s not big on people in general. 

“Sure,” Nile says. “I’m originally from Chicago. My mom and brother still live out there. My dad was military. I joined up after high school.” This part feels like pulling off a band-aid—she can feel the mood in the room shift as everyone processes the fact that she’s ex-military. “My six-year contract came up and I didn’t renew. I just finished my first year at Berkeley. My roommates and I haven’t been getting along great, so I’m trying to move out.”

There’s an awkward pause, and Nile starts picking at the edge of her beer label. 

“Berkeley’s a great school, Nile,” Nicky says, giving her a little smile. 

“Oh, yeah, it’s been really good. It’s kinda hard to meet people though, you know, as a non-traditional student.”

“Right,” Joe says, and he looks at Booker, who’s polishing off his second beer. “Booker was a non-traditional student, too,” he tells her when it’s clear Booker’s not going to say anything. “But this old man was lucky enough to meet me. We were at CalArts at the same time.”

“Oh, awesome.” Nile glances around the rest of the table. “How’d the rest of you meet?”

“Nicky and I met at our first jobs out of school.” Joe laughs a little. “We were office rivals.”

“Yes, for the first week,” Nicky adds.

"And the second week?”

Joe grins. “We were hooking up in the supply closet.” He winks at Nicky, whose lips twitch up. Yeah, definitely That Couple. 

Nile looks at Andy.

“Book and I go way back,” she says, bumping his elbow. “Quỳnh and I met in undergrad.”

“Millennia ago,” Joe says, eyes shining. 

Quỳnh looks up from her phone and flashes a quick smile. “Hey, I need to take a call. But it was great to meet you, Nile.” 

Andy looks like she’s about to say something, but Quỳnh’s already headed back toward the bedrooms. 

There’s an awkward silence as Andy takes a big gulp of her beer. She looks at Nile. “So. Any other questions for us?”

“Nah, I don’t think so.” She pauses, still peeling the label. “I’m, um, definitely up for this, if y’all are cool with me moving in,” she says, and holds her breath.

Andy smiles. “We’ll need to chat, but I can let you know tomorrow.”

Nile nods and stands up. “Great. I’ll get out of your hair, then.”

Booker just gives her a little wave, but Joe and Nicky help Andy see her out, both of them smiling.

Overall, she has a good feeling about this. 

———

Andy looks around the table. “So?”

“She’s a baby,” Booker says, predictably grumpy.

“She’s twenty-five, Book.”

He just grunts.

“I like her,” Nicky says, and Joe nods in agreement.

“She seems unlikely to turn any of us into skin suits, which is my top ask of any roomie.” 

“And if she’s attending Berkeley, she must be serious about her studies,” Nicky points out, which isn’t necessarily a positive as far as Andy’s concerned, but she gets where he’s coming from—there’s enough chaos in this fucking loft as it is. 

Booker frowns over his bottle. “She’s military, Nicky. Something something American imperialism, hmm?”

Nicky looks at him, face serene. “She’s ex-military. People can learn and change.”

“And how did you infer that she has from our five-minute conversation?”

Nicky shrugs. “I don’t know, Booker. She and Andy, meeting at the same moment like that? It feels like it’s meant to be.”

Booker stares at him. “Do not start with this destiny bullshit.”

“Hey,” says Joe.

A JoeandNicky versus Booker pissing match is the last thing Andy needs right now. “Look, this is not most peoples’ ideal setup and there are some true fucking weirdos out there,” she tells Booker. He still looks mutinous. 

“We barely know anything about her,” he insists.

Joe looks at him, exasperated. “Book, what else do you wanna know?”

“Does she cook lots of stinky food? Does she get up ridiculously early and bang around? Does she have decent taste in music?” 

Nicky buries his face in his hands, and Joe rolls his eyes, but Andy will admit Booker has a point. They don’t need another person’s music competing for dominance—it’s enough that Joe tries to drown out Booker’s depressing folksy shit with his terrible ska almost every morning. 

  
Still, she’s willing to overlook it. Andy sighs and raises her voice. “Quỳnh? What do you think about Nile moving in?”

Quỳnh pads back into the kitchen, frowning. “You don’t need to yell.”

Andy weighs the pros and cons of sniping back, but before she can make a decision, Quỳnh’s already addressing the others. “I think Nile seems nice. Normal. I say she’s in.”

Booker thumps his bottle on the table. “How often are you here, anyway? Do you even get a vote?” 

Andy winces, but Quỳnh just raises an eyebrow. “Whatever,” she says coolly, and heads back to their room. 

It’s four to one (or three to one if she’s not counting Quỳnh), but Andy hesitates as she looks as Booker. As much as she likes to piss him off with petty sarcasm, she doesn’t actually want him to be unhappy—though more and more that seems like a losing battle. 

The worst part is that most days, she relates.

“Book,” she starts, trying to imitate Nicky’s patient and soothing tones, “you know we need someone to make up Copley’s part of the rent.”

And just like that, there’s no more fight left in him. Booker slumps in his chair, shrugs, and takes another drink. “Fine, whatever. But if she has any frat boys over, you’re dealing with it.”

“You got it,” Andy says, relieved. “I’ll call Nile and give her the good news.”

———

Later that night, the knock on their door comes at the worst possible time. Nicky’s muffled moans abruptly cut off, and Joe crawls up from between his legs. “Do I answer it?”

Nicky can only grunt indeterminately, so Joe makes a game-time decision. “Okay, I’m gonna see who it is.” He gives Nicky’s calf a quick squeeze and pulls on his sweats before peering out the door.

It’s Quỳnh, looking harried and holding a harness. 

“Hey,” she hisses. “Quick, I need your dildo.”

Joe has never been described as a man of few words, and, as such, has rarely been speechless, but right now all he can do is blink. “What.”

“Ask Nicky—the dishwasher? The dildo?” She says these words like they should mean something to him. 

“Um. One moment.” Joe closes door on her and turns back to Nicky. “It’s Quỳnh. She’s saying something about…a dildo and a dishwasher?”  
Nicky makes a frustrated noise and knocks his knuckles against their headboard. Joe leans over him and works the gag out from between his teeth.

Nicky licks his lips. “A few months or so ago, she melted her dildo in the dishwasher,” he tells Joe tiredly. “I told her she could borrow ours if she really needed.” 

Joe stares. “She put it in the dishwasher?”

“I know.” 

Quỳnh bangs on the door again. 

Nicky sighs. “Just let her in.” Joe moves back to the door, but Nicky calls after him, a note of panic in his voice. “Wait—cover me up first.”

“Oh, right, shit.” Joe pulls their sheet up to his chest. “Sorry, baby.”

Peep show averted, he opens the door and Quỳnh hustles in. “Thank you, thank you,” she says, and raises an eyebrow when she catches sight of Nicky, whose wrists are still tied to the headboard.

“You know I was joking when I said you could borrow ours,” he tells her flatly. 

“Yeah, but then I forgot to actually replace it and I don’t want to make it a whole thing right now, okay? It was expensive and Andy’s going to be pissed. She thinks I’m peeing right now. So thank you.” 

Joe has a few more questions about how Quỳnh will manage switching her and Andy’s regular sex toy for one of theirs like a parent swaps their kid’s dead fish, but he decides he’d really rather not know. He locates their dildo and hands it over.

“You clean this, right?”

“Yes,” Joe says, offended.

Quỳnh fits it into her harness. “Okay, that’ll work,” she says. 

“I’m only doing this so I’m not responsible for your lesbian bed death,” Joe jokes. Nicky shoots him a stern look, and he immediately regrets saying it. They’ve suspected for awhile that the dwindling sex life is the least of Quỳnh and Andy’s problems.

Luckily, Quỳnh just rolls her eyes and makes for the door. “That’s offensive, but I’m going to let it slide. Cheers, boys.” 

Alone again, Joe glances at Nicky, whose erection is still jutting out under the sheet. “So, do you want—” 

“Yes, just get back here,” Nicky says. 

“It’s hot when you get bossy, baby.” Joe jumps back into bed and taps the gag.“You want this back in?” 

“Are you going to keep licking my hole?”

“Absolutely.” 

“Then yes.” 

Joe grins. 

After, when they’re laying spent and sated, Nicky is quiet, and Joe knows what’s coming. 

“I know,” he says, trying to head things off before Nicky can get started. “You’re right. We need our own place.” They’ve reached the point where getting walked in on is no longer funny and slightly exciting—now it’s just annoying and uncomfortable. And as hot as it is to gag Nicky so he can’t scream while Joe goes down on him, it’d be nice if they could do it purely for love of kink and not partially out of necessity.

Joe sighs. “It’s just, things here feel so…”

“Fragile,” Nicky says softly. Joe turns to him, sees his face so open and sincere, and he knows that Nicky is also loathe to leave while Nile’s just settling in, while things are so off between Andy and Quỳnh. 

“Yes, exactly.” 

Nicky presses a kiss to his shoulder.

“But. You’re right,” Joe repeats. “We’re ready for the next step. What—what if we started looking for a place in the fall? Give everyone here some time to adjust. But we could move out before the end of the year.”

Nicky’s eyes shine in their half-lit room. “And that’s what you want?”

“Nicky,” Joe says, trying to ignore his heart breaking a little at the idea that Nicky could ever doubt it. “Of course.” 

Nicky smiles. “All right. Deal.” He leans in for a kiss. To Joe, it’s a promise. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not spend more than five minutes Googling how military terms/contracts work, so please chalk any inaccuracy there up to my laziness/disinterest in learning about the U.S. military.


	3. knife cuts both ways

**August 4**

It’s pitch black in their room when Andy wakes up to the sound of the closet door closing, clothes rustling, and a suitcase zipping. She lifts her head and cranes her neck in search of the clock, which tells her it’s five-twenty.

Squinting in the dark, she sees the outline of Quỳnh moving around. That’s right, Andy vaguely recalls, early flight. She tries to remember the destination. “Zurich?” she asks, voice scratchy with sleep. 

“Geneva,” Quỳnh says.

“When’s the flight leave?”

“Six."

Andy sits up and swings her legs out of bed. She blinks around the room, wondering where she threw her sweats. “Okay, give me five minutes.”

Quỳnh, without looking up, hums in question. “Hm?”

“I’ll take you, just lemme find my clothes.” 

“That’s okay, I’ve got a car coming.”

“Oh.” Andy takes a deep breath and tries to convince herself this is no big deal, that it’s actually more considerate of Quỳnh to call a car instead of rousing her, but it doesn’t work—she’s pissed. “Were you even going to wake me up to tell me you’re leaving?”

Quỳnh sighs. “Andy. Come on. I’m not going to do this right now.”

“When _are_ we gonna do this, then? In between Tokyo and Berlin?”

“Fuck, Andy!” Quỳnh finally abandons the Herculean task of trying to fit a third pair of shoes in the outer compartment of her suitcase. “This is an important trip for me, I need to focus.”

“It’s always a fucking important trip.”

“Yeah, and you always pick a fucking fight before I leave!”

Andy digs her fingers into a pillow, willing herself not to throw it across the room. “Like I _fucking_ said, when else am I supposed to talk to you?”

“Later! Fuck!” Quỳnh shoves the shoes back into the closet and slams the door. She sighs again and looks over to Andy, eyes shining in the dark of the room. “Look. I’ll be back on the sixteenth, okay? And we can talk then about whatever you want, I promise. You can even pick me up from the airport.” Her teeth gleam as she flashes Andy a quick smile.

Andy runs a hand through her hair. It’s not okay, she thinks, but there’s no point in pressing the issue now. There’s no question that Quỳnh is leaving—the only thing that’s up in the air is just how bad things will be between them when she walks out the door.

“Okay,” Andy says. “That sounds good.”

“Okay,” Quỳnh repeats. She approaches the bed the same way you’d approach a dog with its hackles raised. She cups Andy’s chin in her hand and presses a kiss to her temple.

“Love you.”

Andy swallows. “Love you, too.”

Quỳnh wheels her suitcase out of the room, and Andy flops back down on the bed. She presses her palms against her eyes and lays there until she hears the loft door closing, at which point she drags herself into the kitchen.

She’s pouring water in the coffeemaker when Nile comes breezing in from her morning run. 

“Hey,” Andy says. 

“Morning,” Nile chirps back. “I never see you up at this time—you seeing Quỳnh off?”

Andy nods and rummages in the fridge for the coffee. 

“I didn’t realize she was leaving again, so soon,” Nile says. Since she moved in, Quỳnh’s been on three different week-long business trips.

“Yeah,” Andy mumbles, and she can’t think of anything to add that won’t sound pitiful or bitter. “You want coffee?”

“That’d be great.”

“Sorry it’s not Joe’s fancy French press,” she says as she scoops out the grinds. 

Nile grins. “That’s cool. This reminds me of being home.”

As the machine percolates, Andy considers Nile. She’s been a model roommate—friendly but not overly-familiar, mostly quiet, and she even helps Nicky cook when he makes a meal for the whole loft. Even Booker’s warmed up to her, powerless against her steadily agreeable-yet-assertive personality. While she’s assessing Nile, she realizes Nile’s looking at her, too, and she has a sinking feeling Nile might be able to tell something’s up. Then again, her puffy eyes are probably a pretty big giveaway. She desperately does not want Nile to ask if something’s wrong. 

“What you got going on today?” Nile asks.

That, Andy wasn’t expecting. “Nothing, really,” she says honestly. She’s between spring and fall seasons, and the only thing she needs to do is stay in reasonable shape so the pushy parents will feel reasonably confident in her ability to whip their kids into good enough players to earn themselves a scholarship to Stanford or Duke.

“You wanna get lunch today? Like a late one?” Nile asks. “I’m done with class at one, then I’m free for the rest of the day.”

“Sure—wait.” Something’s just occurred to her. “It’s summer. You’ve been going to class this whole time?”

“Uh, yeah,” Nile tells her. “Summer session.” 

“Jesus, kid,” Andy says. “All work and no play, you know that?”

“Well,” Nile says, grinning, “maybe that’s what this afternoon can be for.”

Andy laughs a little, surprising herself. “Sure, I’ll be your bad influence any day. Where do you wanna eat?” 

“You tell me. I still don’t know where any of the good spots are.” 

“You like ramen?”

“Love it.”

“Then I’ve got a great spot.”

“Tight.” The coffeemaker beeps and Nile pours herself a mug. “Gotta shower. Text me the name of the place and I’ll meet you there.” 

Andy smiles at her retreating back. 

———

“So,” Nile asks as they leave the ramen place (which was as good as promised), “what now?”

“We’re headed home,” Andy tells her.

“For real? I thought you were gonna teach me how to live, or whatever,” Nile teases.

Andy smirks at her. “Oh, I am, kid.” 

Nile feels her eyebrows creep up her face. “Should I be scared?”

Andy’s grin widens. “Probably.” 

When they get back to the loft, Booker is in the living room. He’s moved half their furniture, but not in a way that makes any sense to Nile.

“What’s going on?”

Booker looks from her to Andy. “Oh, you didn’t tell her?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Andy says.

“What, is this some sort of practical joke involving shitty fengshui?” 

“This,” Booker says, gesturing around the room, “is Model Citizen.”

“Um.” 

“All your questions will be answered as we play,” Andy says. “Now help me move the coffee table.”

They spend another twenty minutes rearranging the furniture, with Nile blindly following orders from the others and trying to figure out if things are being placed with any rhyme or reason. Finally, Booker heads over to the fridge, and for a minute Nile’s afraid he’s about to move that, too, but then he starts unloading cases of beer. 

Nile stares. “How did you fit all those in the fridge? Please don’t say you threw out all our food.”

“Relax, I didn’t toss your blueberries and yogurt and kale.”

“It’s spinach.” She frowns. “Do you really not know the difference?”

“Whatever, it’s all leafy and green.” 

“Okay, now we gotta build a beer castle,” Andy says before Nile can raise any more questions about Booker’s diet. 

“So this is a drinking game?”

“Nothing gets by you, does it?” Booker asks. After two months of cohabitation, his snark comes off as mostly good-natured, and she’s learned to take it in stride.

Building a seven-foot tall beer castle around a handle of vodka is a time-intensive undertaking. They’re just putting the final touches on it when the door opens.

Nicky takes a long look around the loft, then returns to his routine—leaving his shoes at the mat by the door, hanging his bag over the coat rack, loosening his tie—before he pads over to the beer castle.

He sighs. “If we’re doing this, let’s move the TV, hm? We can’t have a repeat of 2017.”

Booker points at him and nods. Together, they move the TV so it’s protected by the console, then Nicky goes to change. He’s rejoined them dressed in sweats and a CalArts tee when Joe gets home. 

Immersed in whatever is playing through his AirPods, he doesn’t notice the elaborate setup in the living room until after he’s kicked off his shoes. 

“Oh shit,” Joe says when he looks up. “This is happening?”

“Nile’s never played,” Andy tells him. 

“And still no one has told me _how_ ,” she adds. “Or even, really, _what_.” 

“It’s Model Citizen,” Nicky says.

“Yeah, got that.”

“Well, the floor is lava,” Joe says. “That’s really the main rule.”

She blinks. “Um, okay. But what’s the whole…point?”

“Drink all the beers,” Booker tells her. “First person to finish their beer once all the beers are gone can drink the vodka. First person to drink the vodka wins.”

“So if the floor is lava, we stand…”

“On the furniture,” says Nicky, expression pained and resigned. 

“The rest will make sense as we go,” Andy assures her. Behind Andy’s back, Joe shakes his head. Meanwhile, Booker is passing out cans of beer. 

“Starting positions!” Andy yells. She, Booker, Joe, and Nicky each climb onto a different piece of furniture. Nile starts to get on the couch, but they quickly shout her down.

“Not there!”

“You’re already cheating! Too close to the center space.”

“I—what? Where—”

Nicky gives her a sympathetic look. “Start on the kitchen chair back in the corner,” he tells her. 

“Um, sure,” she says. 

“Okay, ready to shotgun?” Andy asks once she’s in position. 

From across the room, Joe calls to Nile, “First person to finish gets first turn.” 

“Go!” Booker yells, and Nile realizes she has no idea how to shotgun a beer. She watches as Nicky punctures the bottom of the can with his thumb and immediately puts it to his mouth. 

How the hell did he do that? Nile tries to poke a hole in her can, but it doesn’t give, and before she can even consider asking, Booker crushes his can between his palms and throws it on the floor. “Done!”

“Damn. Start the count, then,” Andy says.

“One, two, one, two, three,” Booker calls.

“Civic duty!” the others yell in unison. 

Nile is well and truly lost, which perfectly sets the tone for the rest of the game. Before she knows it, she’s two beers deep and she’s only been able to determine three rules:

One, she can only move clockwise.

Two, she can only take a beer if she’s in one of the four spaces that are touching the castle.

Three, she can’t ever be without a beer, but she’s not allowed to have more than three at a time. 

Violation of any of these rules results in screams from the others (mostly Andy and Booker, but Joe starts joining in with increasing frequency the more beers he knocks back). When she tries to leave the side table she’s standing on for a bathroom break, Nicky stops her, insisting that the floor is lava and she has to stay on the furniture. 

It’s Joe’s turn, or at least Nile thinks it is—he took a move, anyway—and he yells, “Count! One, two, three.”

The other three slap the backs of their hands to their foreheads. Andy and Nicky put up two fingers, and Booker puts up three. Nile quickly holds up three, too. 

Booker groans. “She cheated, she saw what I was holding.”

“Well—yeah,” Nile admits, “but I don’t know what it actually means.” 

“You want a number that doesn’t match with anyone else. Then you get a turn, too,” Nicky explains. 

“Oh.” She looks at Booker a little guiltily. “Sorry, I didn’t know. I can—we don’t have to count mine.”

“No, we definitely do,” Andy insists.

“Whatever,” Booker grumbles. 

The games resumes, the beer castle shrinks, and navigating the furniture becomes a lot more difficult. Finally, Andy reaches the vodka and takes a pull that makes Nile’s stomach turn.

“I did it!” Andy shouts. “I am the Model Citizen!”

Shortly after that, Nicky and Joe scamper off—either to the bedroom for what’s bound to be some unsuccessful sex, given how Joe’s slurring his words and Nicky’s stumbling over his own feet, or to the bathroom for some projectile vomiting. 

Andy, Booker, and Nile sprawl out on the couch.

“I think this is the drunkest I’ve ever been,” Nile says. 

Andy makes a sound of acknowledgement as she sinks further into the couch. Her eyes shut and Booker smirks.

“Lightweight,” he says.

Andy doesn’t open her eyes, but she mumbles something that might be “fuck you.”

“Hey,” Nile says suddenly, looking at Booker, “you never actually told me how you two know each other.”

“Hm?” 

“Andy just said you two go way back.”

“We do,” he says.

“Yeah, but like how far?” 

Booker sighs. “High school.” 

“Lemme guess, you were both AV geeks?”

He gives her a dark look. “No.” He finishes his beer and sets it on the coffee table, the surety of his movements simultaneously impressive and concerning given how much he’s had to drink. “She was on the soccer team. With my wife.”

Nile almost spits out her beer.

“Your _wife_? You have a _wife_?”

Booker looks down at his hands. “Had.”

“Oh,” Nile says, voice small. 

“She died,” Booker says abruptly, voice flat. “Cancer. Almost ten years ago.” 

“Oh, God. Booker, I’m—I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No,” Booker says to her surprise. He looks up at Nile then. His eyes are red. “You should know. That’s why I’m…”

She waits, still and quiet for fear of shattering whatever moment they’re having.

“…the way I am,” Booker finishes.

Nile’s going to cry. She has to look away. “I’m sorry, Booker. I’m sorry that—that you went through that.”

“Yeah,” is all he says. 

She finishes her beer, not because she wants to—she’s going to be hungover enough tomorrow as it is—but because she needs something to distract herself. Which really does explain a lot about Booker, she realizes.

“Anyway,” Booker says after a moment. “Wanna help me put Andy to bed? She’ll only be bitchier tomorrow if we let her pass out on the couch.” 

“Yeah, okay,” she says quickly, eagerly seizing on a new topic and something to do besides staring forlornly at the coffee table. Between the two of them, they only drop her once. 

———

From across the toilet, Joe watches the love of his life as Nicky sways against the wall he’s leaning on.

“Fucking hate this game,” he slurs. 

“I know, baby,” Joe slurs back. He can hold his alcohol a little better than Nicky, but he’s very drunk, too. 

Nicky lurches forward and produces some noises that resemble the sounds the dinosaurs in _Jurassic Park_ make. Joe grimaces and rubs at his back. When Nicky lifts his head, he rests his cheek on the toilet seat, pale and wan.

“Who won the game?” he asks. 

“I think we all lost the game, my love,” Joe tells him gently.

“I’m going to have to call in sick tomorrow,” Nicky groans.

“You’ll be fine in the morning, you always are after you throw up the night before. I’m the one who’s going to feel like shit.”

Nicky just grunts. “What time is it?”

Joe checks his phone. It’s just after one. “Uh. Late.”

“How late?”

“Late as fuck for old people like us.” 

Nicky sighs. “You should go to bed, love. I know how hard you’ve been working, you don’t need to be exhausted tomorrow because you were up with me.”

Then he throws up again. 

Joe runs his fingers through Nicky’s hair. Tomorrow really will be terrible, but maybe he can say he’s coming down with a cold and work from home. And maybe he can convince Nicky to call in sick, too, even though Joe’s sure he won’t need to, and they can sleep in and have lunch together, all ideally without interruption from any roommates.

He loves Booker, and Andy and Quỳnh, and Nile, even though he’s only known her for a few months, but he loves them in the way he loves cold brew coffee and _Lord of the Rings_.

He loves Nicky in the way he loves nothing else, never more so than when Nicky pushes himself off the toilet, looks at him and says, “Really, Joe, go on, I’m fine—”

“Nicky, will you marry me?”

Nicky sucks in a breath. “Joe—what—”

“Will you marry me?”

“Joe, you’re drunk, _we’re_ drunk.” 

“Doesn’t matter, I still want to be with you, forever, okay? You know that.”

“I—I know that, yes.” 

“And you want to be with me, right?”

“Joe. Yes, Of _course_.” 

“Then will you marry me?”

Nicky stares at him. “All right,” he says after a long pause. “One condition.”

“Name it.” 

“Will you ask me again?” Nicky’s eyes are wide and serious. “Tomorrow, when I’m not…hunched over a toilet?” 

“Nicky, baby, I’ll ask you every day for the rest of our lives—even if we live one thousand years.” 

Nicky breaks into a smile. Joe moves in to kiss him, but Nicky’s face falls and he holds out a hand before leaning back over the toilet to make more of those terrible velociraptor sounds. 

Joe waits patiently and hands Nicky water when he’s done. 

Nicky smiles wryly over the glass. “Still want to get married?”

“Absolutely. We can start looking at rings this weekend, if you want.” 

Nicky threads their fingers together. “I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, New Girl fans will notice that Model Citizen is basically True American. I just felt like it'd be a liiittle weird for these characters (even in a modern AU with vague nationalities) to be playing a game called True American.


	4. fell from the pedestal

**September 14**

Halfway through the ninety-minute creative review for the new brand colors and fonts he’s proposing, Joe’s phone lights up with a call from an unknown number. When the meeting wraps (ten minutes over), the first thing he does is check his voicemail. His sour mood lifts when he discovers it’s the jeweler letting him know their rings are done. 

Nicky’s been his fiancé for more than a month now, but Joe can’t help but feel like having tangible proof will make it truly official.

Then again, telling the rest of the loft could help with that, too.

He and Nicky talked about it when they were sober, then again when they were finally free of their hangovers, and they’d planned it all out: They’d wait a couple weeks until Quỳnh got back from her trip so they could tell everyone the good news at once. Nicky spent hours making a lavish dinner for everyone that night, and Joe picked up several bottles of twenty-dollar wine, but their best-laid plans were foiled by the obvious tension between Andy and Quỳnh. 

Nile had done an admirable job of asking Quỳnh thoughtful, uncontroversial questions about her trip, but Quỳnh’s clipped answers and Andy’s moody silence put a damper on the whole thing. Nicky had given him a pained look that Joe knew said something along the lines of, We have to read the room. Now’s not the time, and Joe had given Nicky’s thigh a squeeze that was meant to convey, I know, I’m sorry you worked so hard on your gnocchi for nothing. 

Later that night, he and Nicky regrouped, and while Joe said they should just try again tomorrow with less of the fanfare, Nicky said he wanted to wait until whatever was happening with their friends worked itself out.

Privately, Joe thought they could be waiting for a very long time, and he’d worried that this was Nicky’s way of having cold feet or second thoughts, but a few days later they’d called their families and commenced planning for a spring wedding, including selecting the bands that were now ready fo be picked up.

It’s only three-thirty, but the jeweler closes at five, and it’s high time Joe actually got to enjoy the “unlimited” paid vacation his workplace offers, so he sets his Slack status to away and heads out.

Picking up the rings goes faster than he’d predicted, so he’s back at the loft well before five. He takes a moment to revel in being the first—and only one—home, which is a novel experience for him. Even though Andy’s fall season is underway and Nile’s back in class full-time, he’s still usually the last one to arrive back at the loft. 

Joe sits at the kitchen table and fishes the boxes from the little bag the jeweler had sent him home with. He sets them side by side and opens them both, and there are the rings, gleaming up at him. They’re perfect, he thinks. 

He starts to lose himself a little to the fantasy of sliding Nicky’s ring onto his finger in front of all their family and friends, and he’s busy comparing his mental images of a boutonniere with tulips versus one with lilies when a sudden nose from the bedrooms makes him jump. 

Quỳnh materializes from the hallway, suitcase in tow, and looks at him with some surprise. “Oh! Joe, you’re home early.” 

“Fucking…fuck, you scared the shit out of me,” Joe says as he wills his heart rate to drop. “I didn’t realize anyone was home.” Quỳnh is the only one who ever works as late as he does—sometimes later. 

“I’m just headed out,” she tells him, and then she does a little double-take.She’s staring at the rings. Joe could kick himself.

“Joe,” she says, “are those…”

Joe swallows, bracing for her reaction. “Yeah. Nicky and I, we’re…we’re getting married.”

For a second, her face breaks into a grin, but then she frowns. “Wait. Did I miss the memo? When did this happen?”

“No, we haven’t told anyone, well, not anyone in the loft,” he tells her. “It, ah, actually happened a little over a month ago.”

Quỳnh blinks. “And you’ve been keeping it a secret because…”

He sighs. “It just—it felt bad, the timing. We’ve been waiting for the right moment.”

“Joe, what do you mean?” She’s looking at him like he’s crazy, and something in him snaps a little. 

“What’s going on with you and Andy?” he asks.

Something complicated crosses Quỳnh’s face, then she shrugs defensively, expression carefully blank.“Is that really your business?”

“I mean, it kind of is,” Joe says bluntly. “We haven’t talked about the engagement because, well, we can tell you two are…having trouble.” 

Quỳnh stares at him for a long moment, then she sighs, stony neutrality giving way to something more vulnerable. “Andy doesn’t like that I’m traveling so much. And I don’t know what to tell her, or what to do about it. Work is crazy and I don’t have time to manage her feelings.”

“Isn’t that sort of part of being in a relationship?”

Quỳnh looks pained. “Yeah. I guess. I just—me and Andy, it used to feel easy. Now every interaction’s like…like we’re diffusing a bomb.” Her face twitches and Joe realizes she’s about to cry.

“Quỳnh,” he says helplessly.

Her phone chimes and she shakes her head. “My car’s here. I gotta run.” She wheels her suitcase to the door, then turns back to look at Joe. “Hey. I’m really happy for you and Nicky, Joe. Please don’t worry about us. You deserve to be happy, even if we—” Quỳnh cuts off and smiles a little sadly. “Just tell the others soon, okay? They’ll want to hear this.” 

She leaves Joe sitting at the table. He stays there for several minutes, staring at the rings, wishing he knew what to do, and trying to decide how much of this conversation he’s going to relay to Nicky. 

———

Andy watches Booker finish her Manhattan while she waits for Nile to show. It’s just after four, and the bar is mostly empty—just the most dedicated alcoholics here at this hour, Andy thinks darkly.

Booker strains her drink and slides the tumbler across the bar top. “Extra shot on the house,” he tells her.

“This is supposed to be served in a coupe,” she says, and downs half of it in one go. 

Booker sips his beer—his third shift drink this shift—and shrugs. “I don’t know what that is.” 

“Of course you don’t.”

He fixes her with a scrutinizing stare. “What, were the teens extra bitchy today?”

Andy glares at him from across the bar until he fucks off. Minutes later, Nile arrives, backpack slung over one shoulder. 

“Hey, sorry,” she says. “I got stuck talking to my TA after class.”

Andy raises an eyebrow. “You hot for teacher?” She doesn’t miss the way Booker looks over from where he’s wiping off a glass at the other end of the bar, clearing paying close attention to her answer. 

“Ew, no, God. How was practice?” Andy notices how quickly she changes the subject, but she doesn’t remark on it. In almost six months, Nile hasn’t brought anyone home, and Andy has no idea what type of person she’s even into. Guys with backwards baseball hats and basketball shorts? Girls with septum piercings and purple hair? It’s not any of Andy’s business, but her own love life is so fucked that she’s a little desperate to live vicariously through someone else.

“Practice was fine. No major injuries, no tears, so I’ll take it.”

Nile raises an eyebrow. “No _major_ injuries?” 

“Yeah, nothing torn or broken.” 

“Hey, Nile,” Booker says, back in front of them. “What can I get you?”

“Umm…” Nile narrows her eyes in thought. “Surprise me?” 

Booker groans. “Come on. That’s literally every bartender’s worst nightmare.”

“Really?”

“Yes. If you want me to surprise you, I’m gonna surprise you with a beer.” 

Nile recoils. Andy hasn’t seen her have a beer since they played Model Citizen. “Okay, okay, vodka cran?”

“Comin’ right up.” 

Two more Manhattans later, Andy’s listening to Nile and Booker argue about The Stranger, using words she couldn’t define even when she was being graded on them, when Booker breaks off mid-rebuttal. “Holy shit, look who it is,” he says, looking over Andy’s shoulder. 

She turns around and is met with a huge smile, warm and familiar even though she hasn’t seen it in months. 

“Copley, you asshole! What are you doing here?” She tries to sound genuinely mad, but she can’t manage it, so she leans in to give him a hug. 

Copley presses a kiss to her cheek. “Just wanted a drink, and hoped some of the old crew might be around.” He glances to Booker and grins. “Well. I knew Booker would be, at least.” 

Nile’s watching the interaction with some expectation, so Andy says, “Nile, this is Copley, traitor, ex-roomie, former friend.” She grins as Copley rolls his eyes. “Also, he works with Nicky.” 

“Hey,” Nile says and holds out her hand. “I’m Nile. Nice to meet you.” 

“Nile’s the new you,” Andy explains as they shake. “Huge improvement. Things worked out great.” 

Copley just laughs and sits down. Booker serves him a pint while he tells Andy all about his new place and how things are going with Coffeeshop Girl, who has a name that Andy refuses to remember on principle. She supposes she’ll have to once she and Copley upgrade from cohabitation to marriage (and probably kids), but she’ll cross that bridge when she comes to it. 

When they’ve exhausted that topic, Copley says, “And how’s Quỳnh? I haven’t seen her since before I moved out—I can’t believe it, it’s probably been nearly eight months.”

Andy forces a smile. “She’s great. Left for Taipei today.”

“Wow, so she’s still traveling a lot, then?”

“Yep,” Andy says, and finishes her drink. Luckily, Copley is unfailingly polite, and he turns to Nile and apologizes for monopolizing the conversation. He asks her about herself and affirms her decision to study art history, which Andy has learned is the fastest way to Nile’s heart. Then he brings up living abroad for two years in college and entertains Nile with his endless anecdotes about taking the train and confusing the slang and all the cool and interesting people he met. 

This goes on until it’s last call and Booker starts the closing routine. “Don’t wait for me,” he says, looking darkly at the table of drunk young women. “It’s gonna take awhile to kick those girls out.”

Andy, Nile and Copley stumble out of the bar. (Or maybe it’s just Andy who’s stumbling.) Nile and Copley exchange goodbyes, and Andy is dreading the prospect of going back to the loft and her empty bed.

“Copley,” she says suddenly, loudly. “I wanna see the new digs.”

“Andy, I told you, you’re welcome any time,” he tells her. 

“I know, and now I’m taking you up on it. You better have some good booze. Let’s go.”

Copley raises his eyebrows, but he doesn’t argue. “Okay, sure.” He looks over to Nile. “You okay to get home?”

Nile looks confused and a little troubled, but she nods. “Yeah, for sure. Andy, you really don’t wanna head?”

“No,” she insists. “I want to go to Copley’s.”

“Ookay. See you,” Nile says, and heads off.

Andy turns back to Copley. “Come on, call a ride.” 

———

It’s a seven-minute walk from the bar to the loft, and Nile spends the whole time worrying if she should have tried harder to keep Andy from leaving with Copley. Things clearly haven’t been great with Andy and Quỳnh, but Nile hopes Andy’s not about to do something she regrets.

When she gets home, Nile roots through the fridge aimlessly. She drank just enough that she won’t be hungover tomorrow, but she does have the munchies now. 

She’s checking out the condiments, juggling the bottles, when somehow she fumbles them, and one clatters to the floor and shatters. Barbecue, ketchup, some mystery sauce—it spills out of the broken jar, pools around it, and she’s not in the kitchen anymore—she’s back in Afghanistan, watching blood spurt from a slash that man made in his own throat—

Nile freezes, and she can even _smell_ the blood.

“Nile. Nile. Nile!”

She’s shaking. She’s shaking, tremors shooting through her muscles, but there’s also someone shaking her. She tears her gaze away from the floor, from the spill. It’s Booker.

“Nile, are you okay?” His voice is as urgent and sincere as she’s ever heard it.

“Um,” she says, swallowing.

“Nile?”

“I. I get flashbacks, sometimes. Not often just—they’re from my deployment.”

“Shit. Nile, what—I mean, do you want to talk about it, or…”

“I just saw a guy cut his own throat,” she blurts. 

“Jesus,” Booker hisses. 

“Yeah.” 

“I…do you need anything? Should I do something?” 

Nile stares at him. He’s too old to be wearing a beanie, she thinks. “Are you really writing a book?” she asks, apropos of nothing.

He blinks. “Um. Yeah. I am.”

“What’s is about?”

Booker looks away, not meeting her eyes. “Zombies,” he says, sighing.

Nile laughs, laughs until she has tears in her eyes, but then she sees Booker’s face and immediately tries to get herself under control. “Shit, I’m sorry, Booker, I wasn’t laughing at you.”

“It kinda sounded that way,” Booker says mildly.

“No, no, I just…I did not expect you to say that is, all. I think it’s awesome, for real.”

His mouth lifts, and she can tell he’s not sure if he believes her, but he doesn’t look hurt anymore. “Well. It cheered you up, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Nile says, though she feels her smile fading. 

“What else can I do?” He hesitates. “Do we hug?”

“Yeah.” She takes a step toward him. “I think we do.”

He wraps his arms around her, but the touch is light—too light. She hugs Booker back, presses her body firmly into his until his wimpy embrace tightens into a squeeze.

Booker smells nice, she thinks. 


	5. no more keeping score

**September 15**

Andy wakes up in a room full of sleek lines and neutral colors and wonders what the fuck’s she doing in a hotel. Unless it’s the hospital?

Then she remembers—the bar, the Manhattans, Copley. This must be Copley’s place, specifically his guest room. 

It really does feel like a hotel room, from the crisp white bedding to the lack of personal touches. There’s even an en suite. She makes a note to ask Nicky how much Copley is making these days, because she predicts it’s somewhere in the ballpark of a shit ton. Nicky probably won’t tell her—ethics, yada yada—but it’s worth a shot.

After splashing some water on her face and using the fancy “natural” mouthwash she finds in the cabinet, she peers out of the bedroom, then follows the smell of coffee down the hallway. 

Copley turns from the some space-age coffee maker and smirks. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fucking fantastic,” she says, voice scratchy. “Where’re my shoes?”

“Oh, they’re by the door.” Copley nods in what must be the direction of the entrance. “We have a no-shoes rule.” 

“Jesus. Of course you do.” Andy hops on to one of the high-top chairs surrounding the kitchen island. 

“I’m glad you still have the same sunny disposition I came to know and love.” He hands her a mug of steaming, sugary espresso. “Fruit? Muffins?”

“I’m good with this,” she tells him. 

“Okay.” Copley cradles his mug and leans against the counter. “So. What have I really missed? The stuff you didn’t want to talk about in front of Nile.” 

Andy takes a sip of her coffee. “Damn. What is this?”

“A maple-pecan latte.”

“Wow.”

“Andy, come on.” 

She sighs. “Things…are not going great, with Quỳnh.”

Copley winces. “Still?”

“Yeah. Still.” 

“It’s the travel?”

“Yeah, I mean, she’s gone almost as much as she’s here.” Andy takes another drink while she searches for the right words. “And I’ve brought it up, but she just gets upset. She feels like I’m not supporting her career.”

Copley looks like he’s about to say something, then he hesitates.

“What?” she snaps.

“Well…don’t take this the wrong way, Andy, but are you?”

“Am I what?” 

“Supporting her career. Sounds a little bit like you don’t.”

She considers throwing the artfully matte mug against his pristine cabinets. If she’s luckily, he’ll get splashed with some scalding latte.

Copley must have some inkling of her murderous intent, because he goes on to quickly say, “I’m not saying that makes you the bad guy. Just seems to me like you two might be a little at odds here, with what you want.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs apologetically. “I mean, seems like you want a partner who’s physically present more often than not, and she wants to advance in her job. Right now those two things appear to be mutually exclusive.” 

“So what? You’re saying we should, what, end things? Jesus, Copley, we’ve been together for almost ten years.” 

“Andy.” Copley’s voice is patient, his expression understanding. “Wouldn’t you rather call it after ten happy years than solider through ten more unhappily?” 

“Fuck.” She buries her face in her hands, fingers threading through her hair. He’s right, and she’s known it for awhile now, but it’s something she’s only thought late at night, alone in an empty bed, a thought that’s dead and buried by the time the sun rises.   
It’s been ten years. People like Nicky and Joe and Nile only know her as half of the whole that is “Andy and Quỳnh.” 

Hell—at this point, she only knows herself as half of that whole. 

She looks at Copley through the cage of her fingers. “What do I do.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You have a real, honest conversation about what you need and want, and you listen to her about what she needs and wants.”

“And if those things aren’t the same…”

“Then at least you know where you stand.” 

She drains her now-lukewarm latte and sighs. “Well. Thanks for the coffee and sympathy.”

———

Nile screws her eyes shut against the light leaking in through the window and wonders when her bed got so lumpy. Then she remembers that her room doesn’t have a window, and suddenly she’s very awake.

Shit. 

Hugging Booker had led to smelling Booker, and smelling Booker had led to making out with Booker, and making out with Booker had led to getting eaten out by Booker, and honestly, the man knew what he was doing down there. How is she gonna go through life knowing that Booker eats pussy like a champ? 

The man in question is apparently a stomach sleeper and a light snorer. His sandy hair’s flopped over what little of his face isn’t buried in his pillow. 

This is the first time she’s been in his room, and she sits up to take a good look around. The closet doesn’t have a door, the walls are plastered with posters of indie bands, and there’s an overflowing laundry basket in the middle of the room. A battered desk is cluttered with mail in varying stages of openness and half-full whiskey bottles. 

She’s trying to decide if sneaking out will make things more or less awkward when Booker shifts beside her. He rolls over and blinks up at her. “Oh. Um. Hey.” 

“Hi,” she says, drawing out the word to fill the awkward silence.

“Look.” Booker props himself up on an elbow. “If you wanna just…pretend this whole thing didn’t happen, we can do that. If you want.”

Nile stares at him. He looks a little pained, like he’s braced for impact. “I mean. Do you wanna pretend this didn’t happen?”

“Only if you do,” Booker says quickly. “I just—I would understand if you…had regrets.”

“I—I don’t,” she tells him, and she’s surprised to realize it’s true. Worst case scenario, they enter into a fiery affair that completely implodes and she’ll have to find a new place to live. Medium case scenario, she’s found herself a new fuck buddy. Best case scenario…what? They fall in love and ride off into the sunset?

Medium case scenario it is. 

“I don’t regret it,” she says again, firmly. “And I would…do this again, if you ever, uh, wanted.”

Booker actually smiles—not his shit-eating grin or sarcastic smirk, but an honest-to-God smile. “Um, sounds good.” 

Oh Jesus, is he blushing? 

“If you don’t want people to know, you know, in the loft—we can keep it quiet so they don’t give us shit.” He pauses. “And by ‘they’ I basically just mean Andy.”

Nile grins, then suddenly she remembers— “Oh, shit, Andy. I completely forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

“I’m kinda worried she did something she’s gonna regret.” Booker looks at her blankly. “Last night,” Nile adds. “With Copley? She went home with him, Book.”

Booker just laughs. “Don’t worry, Nile, she didn’t sleep with Copley or anything. It’s not like that. She probably just drank his booze and passed out on his couch.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, trust me.” 

“Okay.” With all the past night’s drama satisfactorily unpacked, she leans back into the pillows. Booker stretches and reaches over to check his phone.

“Wait,” Nile says suddenly. “What time is it?”

“Ten-fifteen.”

“Aw, fuck!”

“What?”

“I missed class,” she groans. “How did this happen? I can’t remember the last time I slept past nine.”

“Well. We were up kinda late.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a love machine.” Nile rolls her eyes. 

“You said it,” Booker says, grinning, then his face turns serious, voice tentative. “Hey, since you’re already playing hooky, you want to get…brunch?”

“ _Brunch_ ,” Nile repeats, dumbfounded. “I dunno, Book, do you wanna get brunch? Have you ever in your life gotten brunch?”

“Just trying to appeal to your Millennial sensibilities,” he says, raising his hands in defeat. “We don’t have to.”

“Hey, no, no. Let’s…get brunch,” Nile laughs. “Let me change and I’ll meet you in the living room in fifteen.” She hops out of bed.

“We could just meet in the bathroom,” Booker calls after her. “Save us some time!”

“Look, don’t make me reconsider my lack of regret, okay?” she yells back as heads down the hallway. 

———

Instead of trying to fight the creative block he has around the new site design, Joe spends the day browsing houses on Zillow. 

He finds one that’s a little older—built in the 30s— and in need of some updates, but it has a great layout and location. Most importantly, they can afford it. He sends the link to Nicky: _👀 this house_

Five minutes later, Nicky replies, _It’s beautiful love!! Are you serious about it?_

_Dead serious. Want me to get in touch with the realtor?_

_Yes!!_

_Will do baby :))_ He fires off that message and then contacts the realtor through Zillow. 

_Done_ , he types. _I think we should tell everyone tonight_

_Tell them we’re looking at a house?_

_That we’re engaged_

He hasn’t told Nicky about his conversation with Quỳnh, but it’s been weighing on his mind for the last twenty-some hours. Nicky doesn’t text back for fifteen minutes—enough time for Joe to get a call from the realtor—but when he gets off the phone, Nicky’s responded.

_Okay. Sounds good._

The next two hours pass like molasses, but finally it’s five o’clock (or close enough for Joe) and he heads home, where he finds Nicky in their bedroom, changing out of his terrible business casual clothes. 

“Hi,” Nicky says as he shrugs on a hoodie. 

“Hi yourself.” Joe kisses his cheek. “You still ready to do this?”

Nicky holds Joe’s face in his hands and gives him a long kiss on the lips. He’s beaming when he pulls back. “Completely.”

Joe grins in return. “Okay.” He threads his fingers through Nicky’s and leads him into the living room. 

“Loft meeting!” Joe yells. “Loft meting!”

Andy raises an eyebrow from where she’s leaned against the kitchen counter. She’s fresh from practice, still wearing her team gear, and eating a large piece of chocolate cake from a clam-shell container. 

Booker and Nile appear from the bedroom hallway. They sit on the couch and Andy abandons her cake to join them. 

“What’s up?” she asks. 

Joe takes a steadying breath. “Nicky and I have something we want to tell you all.”

“You’re pregnant,” Booker deadpans. Joe glares at him.

“Close,” Nicky says wryly. “We’re engaged.”

Booker just nods. “About time.”

Nile claps her hands to her face. “Oh my God, congratulations!”

“When did this happen?” Andy demands. 

“Well.” Joe casts a sidelong look at Nicky as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. “It, uh, actually happened a month ago. Ish.”

The other three stare at them. 

“What’s ‘ish’?” Booker asks.

“A month?” Andy frowns. “Why the hell are you just telling us this now?”

Joe sighs. “We wanted to tell you sooner, it’s just—we’re also looking at buying a house, you know,” he winces, “moving out. So. It’s all kind of bittersweet.”

Now they’re all frowning.

“We’ll miss living here with all of you,” Nicky says, eyes wide. “We’ve lived here for almost five years, there have been so many memories—"

“Jesus, you guys.” Andy cuts off Nicky’s monologue. “Take the drama down a notch. You’re moving out. That’s all.” 

“Yeah,” Booker adds. “We’re all invited to the wedding, right?”

“Of course,” Joe says, feeling like he’s lost control of the conversation but not entirely upset about it. 

“Cool,” Nile grins. “Need any help planning?”

“Actually—” Nicky begins.

“Save that?” Andy pleads. “Just give us some notice before you actually move out. Niles don’t grow on trees.” She nudges Nile with her foot, grinning. Nile just shakes her head, bashful. Booker’s also watching Nile, and his face is full of the kind of fondness he usually reserves for forty-year scotch. 

Joe shares a look with Nicky. Slowly, their faces break into matching smiles. 

“We can do that,” Joe tells the others. 


	6. feels like home

**December 31**

Nile flops back on the bed, boneless. She feels like Booker has just sucked her soul out through her clit. 

He grins up at her, hair hanging in his eyes. “Good?”

“Top five,” she admits. “But we’re still no closer to being packed.”

Booker glances around the room, every inch of which is teeming with cardboard boxes. 

“I have a lot of shit,” he admits, then his eyes glint with mischief. “You know, us old people, we accumulate things.” 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the crypt keeper. We seriously have to start getting some of this sorted.” She flings herself out of bed and starts pulling her clothes back on, scanning the floor. “Where’s your luggage?”

Still butt-ass naked, he pulls a duffel out from under the bed. It’s army-green canvas, held together with safety pins and duct tape. 

Nile stares. “That bag’s not even going to survive the luggage belt at the airport. Now we have to add a suitcase to the shopping list.” Along with power converters and travel-size toiletries, she thinks. 

“Hey,” Booker says, stepping into his pants. “I’ll have you know this bag has survived years of international travel, whipper snapper.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, and I don’t think it’s gonna take another minute.” 

“Fine, fine, add it to the list,” he concedes. 

Nile unpins the Wilco poster from the wall. “Okay, what about this?” 

“Store,” Booker says, and she drops it into the appropriate box. 

She holds up a cracked-spine paperback. “Victor Hugo?”

“Going with us.”

“Book! Essentials only.”

“It is,” he insists. 

“Fine.” Nile sighs and tosses it on the bed. She looks at the desk. “What about all these…random papers?”

“Toss.” 

“What even are these?” She digs through the pile of half-opened mail. 

“Nothing important. Just some bills.”

“Okay, but these are, like, _paid_ bills, right?” 

Booker throws an Arcade Fire t-shirt in the direction of the “store” pile and shrugs. “Probably. The important ones are, for sure.” 

“Oh, my God.” Nile rubs at her forehead. “Am I gonna be the only thing keeping us from getting _Hostel_ ed on this little European adventure?”

Booker grins. “Probably.” 

She sighs and looks around at all the unsorted shit surrounding them. Back in September, the end of the year seemed like a long time away, a far-off date in the future, and she’d thought they’d have all the time in the world to plan and pack. 

“Is this part of getting old?” she asks Booker desperately. “Time, sneaking up on you?”

He blinks at her. “Huh?”

“Never mind,” she says. “Okay, fuck it, let’s go get some coffee.”

Booker raises an eyebrow. “What about packing?”

Nile checks her phone. “We still have eight hours. We can finish this up in one or two. We just have to get motivated.”

“Right, yes,” Booker agrees. “Does that mean we might even have time for brunch?”

Nile smirks. “Sure, Book, whatever you want.”

Booker whoops and kisses her cheek. “Give me five minutes to get ready,” he says, and heads for the bathroom.

“But then we have to do the shopping, okay?” Nile calls after him. “And don’t forget to add new luggage to your list!”

———  
  
“It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it?”

Andy looks up from taping a box closed to see Quỳnh leaning against the door. “What is?”

Quỳnh smiles. “You being the one about to catch an international flight.”

Andy huffs a laugh. “Yeah. Guess so.” She moves on to the next box. 

Quỳnh steps into the room, hands in her pockets. She glances around, though at this point there’s really nothing to look at—everything is packed away, either in one of the cardboard boxes or Andy’s ancient suitcase.

“I’m going to miss this place,” Quỳnh says. 

Andy swallows around the lump in her throat. “Yeah.”

“I’m going to miss you more,” Quỳnh adds. Andy sets the tape down on the box she just finished and looks up. Quỳnh’s standing close enough to reach out and touch, so without thinking, Andy does.

She trails her fingers up the inside of Quỳnh’s wrist. “I’m going to miss you, too.” 

Quỳnh’s smiling, like she knows exactly where this is headed, as if to say, _This is a questionable decision but I’m right there with you_ , and Andy smiles back, _I know it is, but I don’t care_ and then they’re kissing. It’s familiar, something they’ve done a million times before, but this feels different, maybe because Andy knows this time might actually be the last. 

Falling into the bed like this is dangerous, and not just because the mattress is bare and Andy can’t remember how old it is or where it came from. But Andy tries to commit every curve and angle of Quỳnh’s body to memory, not just the look but the feel of it against hers. And for as long as she lives, she wants to remember the sound Quỳnh makes when Andy does _that_ with her tongue.

After, they lay facing each other, and the expression on Quỳnh’s face right now is another thing Andy’s determined to never forget. 

“That was nice,” Quỳnh says.

“It was good,” Andy agrees.

“It felt like…” Quỳnh’s lips twist. “One for the road.”

Andy laughs. “You mean one for the sky.”

Quỳnh rolls her eyes, grinning. “Whatever.” She stretches out, then her gaze turns serious. “You know I’ll miss more than this, right?”

Andy smiles. “Yeah, I know.”

“This felt like it might’ve been, I don’t know, one last time, but—I don’t want it to be goodbye forever.” 

“It can’t be,” Andy says, deadpan. “You’re storing like, all of my shit.” 

Quỳnh laughs. “I guess I’ve got that going for me.” 

Andy presses a kiss to her cheek. “Come on,” she says, rolling off the mattress and extending a hand, “we gotta head.” 

They get dressed and haul the last of the boxes to Quỳnh’s car, which poses a challenge since she drives a Fiat. 

“That’s all, right?” Quỳnh asks once they manage to get the back doors shut. 

“I still have my suitcase, but I can put that at my feet in the front,” Andy says. “I’ll go grab it and lock up.”

Quỳnh nods and Andy heads back up to the loft. She rolls her suitcase from the room formerly known as hers and takes one last look around the empty space. 

Most of the kitchen stuff has been gone for weeks, since it was mostly Joe and Nicky’s. The living room furniture has been slowly disappearing over the past month as they’ve moved it to a new home, into storage, or sold it on Craigslist. Though Andy had her doubts, Nile managed to kick Booker’s ass into gear, and even his stuff is gone. 

The end of the loft, the end of her and Quỳnh—she’s sad, but not as sad as she thought she’d be. It’s like getting a shot, she thinks. The anticipation of the pain is worse than the actual stick of the needle. She’s spent a long time being afraid of breaking up with Quỳnh, of breaking up the gang, because she thought it would be devastating.

Now that she’s here, at the end, she can see that it’s also a beginning. 

———

Nicky is a little flushed after several glasses of wine, gesturing widely as he gives the others a tour of the new place. He points out the ancient shag carpet and assures them that there’s original hardwood floors underneath, he just hasn’t gotten around to restoring them yet, but it’s next on the list. 

Joe’s eye catches on Nicky’s ring, a sight he never gets tired of. 

“This house is great, guys,” Nile says.

“Yeah, I especially like the sex room,” Andy drawls.

Nicky frowns. “It’s not a sex room, I told you, it’s Joe’s studio—”

“Oh, doing a new collection featuring butt plugs, is he?” 

Nicky’s cheeks flame as Booker snickers.

“Very funny,” Joe says. He rolls his eyes, but he makes a note to get that back to its proper place before it gets lost in the clutter of his studio. “Get in the living room,” Joe says as he heads for the kitchen. “Someone put on the countdown.” 

He pops two bottles of bubbly, idly admiring the new cabinets Nicky finished installing last week. As he starts to pour, Nicky comes up behind him, pressing himself to Joe’s back. He takes Joe’s left hand in his, holding their linked fingers to Joe’s chest. 

“Hello, husband,” Nicky says in his ear.

Joe grins. “Husband.” 

Joe brings their hands to his lips and kisses each of Nicky’s knuckles. Nicky’s lips brush against Joe’s temple, then he pulls away to help Joe with the champagne. 

In the living room, the TV’s turned to the Times Square ball drop. 

“How long?” Joe asks as he and Nicky hand out the flutes. 

“Ten minutes,” Nile says. “It feels a little weird to be doing this so early.”

“Hey, not all of us can make it to real midnight,” Booker says, sprawling out on the couch. 

“And besides, you’ve gotta be at the airport in what, six hours?” Joe asks.

“Five and a half,” Nile says. 

“We don’t need to be there three hours early,” Andy grumbles. Nile ignores her, but Quỳnh shoots Joe a wink. 

“Remind me, what’s your first stop?” Nicky asks.

“Amsterdam,” Booker tells him, and gestures at Nile. “Copley really talked it up to her.”

“Legal weed, legal prostitutes, what’s not to love?” Andy finishes her champagne and raises her flute. “Is there more?”

“In the kitchen,” Nicky says. 

“Bring the bottle,” Joe calls after her.

“Quỳnh, where are you headed next?” Nile asks. 

“Leaving for Mexico City next Monday,” Quỳnh tells them. She perches on the couch arm. “And are you taking the whole semester off, then?” 

“Maybe,” she says, glancing at Booker. “We’re kinda playing it by ear.”

“And Nile’s pretending that it’s not killing her to do it,” Andy says as she comes back into the room. She tops off everyone’s glass and takes a seat in the recliner. 

“It’s not,” Nile protests unconvincingly. 

Joe glances over at the TV. “Oh shit, three minutes!”

“Speech,” Booker calls. Joe shakes his head, but Andy, Quỳnh, and Nile join in the chant, while Nicky covers his laugh with his hand. 

“Come on, Joe, you know you want to,” Quỳnh teases.

“Okay, okay, fine.” Joe raises his glass, then, pauses. He takes a minute to calculate how much weight the coffee table can take, then he steps on to it. “Don’t get any ideas about Model Citizen,” he tells Andy in an undertone, then clears his throat. 

“A year ago, if you’d told me that Nicky and I would be married, in our own place, I don’t know if I would have believed it, but I’m so glad we ended up here.” He smiles at Nicky, who beams back. “And I’m glad you all are here with us, tonight, even though you’ll all be half-way around the world by this time next week. Just know that if any of you weary travelers ever need a place to stay, ours is always open to you.” 

He looks at his friends. Nile’s grinning ear-to-ear, Quỳnh is looking exasperated but fond, Booker’s mouth is lifted in a half-smile, and Andy—Andy might actually have tears in her eyes, which Joe would normally give her shit for, but he decides to let it slide this time. 

“So,” he says, raising his glass. “To old friends and new adventures.”

The room echoes with “cheers” as the others raise their glasses. 

“Twelve seconds!” Nile says, gesturing to the TV. 

They all yell along with the countdown, and when the ball drops and the others shout “happy New Year!” Joe gathers Nicky in his arms and kisses him. 

“Happy New Year,” he says against Nicky’s lips. 

Nicky kisses him again. “Happy New Year.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year y'all! Thanks for reading along and I hoped you enjoyed. Catch me on [Tumblr](https://dreamtiwasanarchitect.tumblr.com/).


End file.
